Five Scarpetta Novels (16 page)

Several diners nearby overheard our conversation, but they continued their own without stares or asides. Marino was in uniform. He clearly was the brass, and that tended to inspire people to mind their own affairs. We waited until Daigo had sufficiently vented her spleen, and we found a table in the quietest corner of the bar. Then she nodded for a waitress to stop by.

“What you want, sugar?” Daigo asked me.

I did not think I could ever eat again, and ordered herbal tea, but she would not hear of that.

“I tell you what, you bring the Chief here a bowl of my bread pudding with Jack Daniel's sauce, don't worry, the whiskey's cooked off,” she said, and she was the doctor now. “And a cup of strong coffee. Captain?” She looked at Marino. “You want your usual, honey? Uh-huh,” she said before he could respond. “That will be one steak sandwich medium rare, grilled onions, extra fries. And he likes A.1., ketchup, mustard, mayo. No dessert. We want to keep this man alive.”

“You mind?” Marino got out his cigarettes, as if he needed one more thing that might kill him this day.

Daigo lit up a cigarette, too, and told us more about what she remembered, which was everything because the Hill Cafe was the sort of bar where people noticed strangers. Danny, she said, had stayed less than an hour. He had come and gone alone, and it had not appeared that he was expecting anyone to join him. He had seemed mindful of the time because he frequently checked his watch, and he had ordered a sailor sandwich with fries and a Pepsi. Danny Webster's last meal had cost him five dollars and twenty-seven cents. His waitress was named Cissy, and he had tipped her a dollar.

“And you didn't see anybody in the area that made your antenna go up? Not at any point today?” Marino asked.

Daigo shook her head. “No sir. Now that doesn't mean there wasn't some son of a bitch hanging out somewhere on the street. 'Cause they're out there. You don't have to go far to find 'em. But if there was somebody, I didn't see him. Nobody who came in here complained about anybody out there like that, either.”

“Well, we need to check with your customers, as many as we can,” Marino said. “Maybe a car was noticed around the time Danny went out.”

“We got charge receipts.” She plucked at her hair and by now it was looking wild. “Most people who been in here we know anyhow.”

We were about to leave, but there was one more detail I needed to know. “Daigo,” I asked, “did he take anything with him to go?”

She looked perplexed and got up from the table. “Let me ask.”

Marino crushed out another cigarette, and his face was deep red.

“Are you all right?” I said.

He mopped his face with a napkin. “It's hot as shit in here.”

“He took his fries,” Daigo announced when she got back. “Cissy says he ate his sandwich and slaw but she wrapped almost all of his fries. Plus when he got to the register, he bought a jumbo pack of gum.”

“What kind?” I asked.

“She's pretty sure it was Dentyne.”

As Marino and I stepped outside, he loosened the neck of his white uniform shirt and yanked off his tie. “Damn, some days I wish I'd never left A Squad,” he said, for when he had commanded detectives it had been in street clothes. “I don't care who's watching,” he muttered. “I'm about to die.”

“Please tell me if you're serious,” I said.

“Don't worry, I'm not ready for one of your tables yet. I just ate too much.”

“Yes, you did,” I said. “And you smoked too much, too. And that's what prepares people for my tables, goddamn it. Don't you even think about dying. I'm tired of people dying.”

We had reached my station wagon and he was staring at me, searching for anything I might not want him to see. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think? Danny worked for me.” My hand shook as I fumbled with the key. “He seemed nice and decent. It seemed he always tried to do what was right. He was driving my car here from Virginia Beach because I asked him to and now he's missing the back of his head. How the hell do you think I feel?”

“I think you feel like this is somehow your fault.”

“And maybe it is.”

We stood in the dark, looking at each other.

“No, it's not,” he said. “It's the fault of the asshole who pulled the trigger. You had nothing in the world to do with that. But if it was me, I'd feel the same way.”

“My God,” I suddenly said.

“What?” He was alarmed, and he looked around as if I had spotted something.

“His doggie bag. What happened to it? It wasn't inside my Mercedes. There was nothing in there that I could see. Not even a gum wrapper,” I said.

“Damn, you're right. And I didn't see nothing on the street where your ride was parked. Nothing with the body or anywhere at the scene, either.”

There was one place no one had looked, and it was right where we were, on this street by the restaurant. So Marino and I got out flashlights again and prowled. We looked
along Broad Street, but it was on 28th near the curb where we found the small white bag as a large dog began barking from a yard. The bag's location suggested that Danny had parked my car as close to the cafe as possible in an area where buildings and trees cast dense shadows and lights were few.

“You got a couple pencils or pens inside your purse?” Marino squatted by what we suspected might be the remains of Danny's dinner.

I found one pen and a long-handled comb, which I gave to him. Using these simple instruments, he opened the bag without touching it as he probed. Inside were cold French fries wrapped in foil and a jumbo pack of Dentyne gum. The sight of them was jolting and told a terrible story. Danny had been confronted as he had walked out of the cafe to my car. Perhaps someone emerged from shadows and pulled a gun as Danny was unlocking the door. We did not know, but it seemed likely he was forced to drive a street away, where he was walked to a remote wooded hillside to die.

“I wish that damn dog would shut up,” Marino said as he stood. “Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.”

He crossed the street to his car and opened the trunk. When he returned, he was carrying the usual large brown paper bag police used for evidence. While I held it open, he maneuvered the comb and pencils to drop Danny's leftovers inside.

“I know I should take this into the property room, but they don't like food in there. Besides, there's no fridge.” Paper crackled as he folded shut the top of the evidence bag.

Our feet made scuffing noises on pavement as we walked.

“Hell, it's colder than any refrigerator out here,” he
went on. “If we get any prints they'll probably be his. But I'll get the labs to check anyway.”

He locked the bag inside his trunk, where I knew he had stored evidence many times before. Marino's reluctance to follow departmental rules went beyond his dress.

I looked around the dark street lined with cars. “Whatever happened started right here,” I said.

Marino was silent as he looked around, too. Then he asked, “You think it was your Benz? You think that was the motive?”

“I don't know,” I replied.

“Well, it could be robbery. The car made him look rich even if he wasn't.”

I was overwhelmed by guilt again.

“But I still think he might have met someone he wanted to pick up.”

“Maybe it would be easier if he had been up to no good,” I said. “Maybe it would be easier for all of us because then we could blame him for being killed.”

Marino was silent as he looked at me. “Go home and get some sleep. You want me to follow you?”

“Thank you. I'll be fine.”

But I wasn't, really. The drive was longer and darker than I remembered, and I felt unusually unskilled at everything I tried to do. Even rolling down the window at the toll booth and finding the right change was hard. Then the token I tossed missed the bin, and when someone behind me honked, I jumped. I was so out of sorts I could think of nothing that might calm me down, not even whiskey. I returned to my neighborhood at nearly one
A
.
M
., and the guard who let me through was grim, and I expected he had heard the news, too, and knew where I had been. When I pulled up to my house, I was stunned to see Lucy's Suburban parked in the drive.

She was up and seemed recovered, stretched out on the couch in the gathering room. The fire was on, and she had a blanket over her legs, and on TV, Robin Williams was hilarious at the Met.

“What happened?” I sat in a chair nearby. “How did your car get here?”

She had glasses on and was reading some sort of manual that had been published by the FBI. “Your answering service called,” she said. “This guy who was driving my car arrived at your office downtown and your assistant never showed up. What's his name, Danny? So the guy in my car calls, and next thing the phone's ringing here. I had him drive to the guard booth, and that's where I met him.”

“But what happened?” I asked again. “I don't even know the name of this person. He was supposed to be an acquaintance of Danny's. Danny was driving my car. They were supposed to park both vehicles behind my office.” I stopped and simply stared. “Lucy, do you have any idea what's going on? Do you know why I'm home so late?”

She picked up the remote control and turned the television off. “All I know is you got called out on a case. That's what you said to me right before you left.”

So I told her. I told her who Danny was and that he was dead, and I explained about my car. I gave her every detail.

“Lucy, do you have any idea who this person was who dropped off your car?” I then said.

“I don't know.” She was sitting up now. “Some Hispanic guy named Rick. He had an earring, short hair and looked maybe twenty-two, twenty-three. He was very polite, nice.”

“Where is he now?” I said. “You didn't just take your car from him.”

“Oh no. I drove him to the bus station, which George gave me directions to.”

“George?”

“The guard on duty at the time. At the guard gate. I guess this would have been close to nine.”

“Then Rick's gone back to Norfolk.”

“I don't know what he's done,” she said. “He told me as we were driving that he was certain Danny would show up. He probably has no idea.”

“God. Let's hope he doesn't unless he heard it on the news. Let's hope he wasn't there,” I said.

The thought of Lucy alone with this stranger in her car filled me with terror, and in my mind I saw Danny's head. I felt shattered bone beneath gloves slippery with his blood.

“Rick's considered a suspect?” She was surprised.

“At the moment, just about anybody is.”

I picked up the phone at the bar. Marino had just gotten home, too, and before I could say anything, he butted in.

“We found the cartridge case.”

“Great,” I said, relieved. “Where?”

“If you're on the road looking down toward the tunnel, it was in a bunch of undergrowth about ten feet to the right of the path where the blood starts.”

“A right port ejector,” I said.

“Had to be, unless both Danny and his killer were going downhill backwards. And this asshole meant business. He was shooting a forty-five. The ammo's Winchester.”

“Overkill,” I said.

“You got that right. Someone wanted to make sure he was dead.”

“Marino,” I said, “Lucy met Danny's friend tonight.”

“You mean the guy driving her car?”

“Yes,” and I explained what I knew.

“Maybe this thing's making a little more sense,” he said. “The two of them got separated on the road, but in
Danny's mind it didn't matter because he'd given his pal directions and a phone number.”

“Can someone try to find out who Rick is before he disappears? Maybe intercept him when he gets off the bus?” I asked.

“I'll call Norfolk P.D. I got to anyway because somebody's got to go over to Danny's house and notify his family before they hear about this from the media.”

“His family lives in Chesapeake,” I told him the bad news, and I knew I would need to talk to them, too.

“Shit,” Marino said.

“Don't talk to Detective Roche about any of this, and I don't want him anywhere near Danny's family.”

“Don't worry. And you'd better get hold of Dr. Mant.”

I tried the number for his mother's flat in London, but there was no answer, and I left an urgent message. There were so many calls to make, and I was drained. I sat next to Lucy on the couch.

“How are you doing?” I said.

“Well, I looked at the catechism but I don't think I'm ready to be confirmed.”

“I hope someday you will be.”